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Kim stood by his bedroom door, full of nervous excitement as he waited for the knock. Tap tappety-tap tap. “Hi!” he called, all but throwing it open before he remembered to look sullen. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, dejected. “I mean…ugh, you’re here.” Monica smirked at his eagerness, but caught herself a moment later. Her smirk vanished and she adopted an expression of uncaring boredom, as though Kim were barely worthy of her notice, the kind of look that made him squirm every time. Leaning back, she exhaled into a piece of bubblegum, blowing a bubble that grew almost as large as her breasts before it popped with a sharp snap. She’d dressed to kill, wearing a snug pink crop-top jacket that hugged her chest and exposed most of her midriff, matched with an equally vibrant latex miniskirt that clung to her thighs, heels, and even pink earrings. She looked like a barbie doll, but the kind from the song more than the playsets, except for the bulky, block-print diaper bag she carried over her shoulder. Raising her heart-shaped sunglasses to peer down at him, she spoke with a voice that had a long, drawn out vocal fry on almost every syllable. “Is there a kid named Kim here?” Kim, in his mid thirties, couldn’t be mistaken for a ‘kid’, but that didn’t stop him from nodding. “My name’s Kim.” “Cool.” Strutting past him, she looked around his room like she was sizing it up for a party. “Did your parents leave any instructions?” Kim stood up straight and shook his head. “I’m not a baby. I don’t actually need a babysitter.” Monica gave him an uncertain, apologetic look. “Um…should I actually pretend to call your ‘parents’?” With character dropped for a moment, Kim shook his head. “You’re in charge, I don’t think we need to worry about backstory too much.” “Okay. And should we like…back up to the living room? I know you really wanted the whole, ‘opening the door and seeing me for the first time’ thing, but if we’re pretending you just let me in…” “It’s fine.” He shook his head, and tried to steer his headspace back towards being pent up and helpless. Monica made it easy. When she re-adopted her persona, it was like watching Clark Kent shift to Superman. Nothing about her physically changed, but her posture shifted, sticking out her chest a little more, leaning to the side, somehow making her seem like she shouldn’t be trusted with power tools. “Whatever. I’m here to sit for Kim, you’re Kim.” Kim hesitated. Despite the awkward circumstances, Monica…stirred something in him, and it wasn’t totally unreasonable for him to ask the question on his mind. (The worst she can say is no, right?) “So…are you single, or…would you ever want to…?” She looked at him with a moment of blank confusion, before understanding the implication of his question. Her eyebrows raised, and a fit of laughter began to bubble out of her throat, first as a single giggle, then as laugh, then a half-coherent fit. “Oh my gawd, like–” she wheezed, wiping a tear away from the corner of her eyes. “That’s so precious.” Kim’s face burned and he looked away. A little piece of him tried to think how to recover the situation, but he realized that nothing he could say to come close to salvaging this conversation thread. Moving on, Monica reached down and groped the back of his shorts without warning. Kim yelped and stepped away, too stunned to complain with more than a, “Hey!” “Oh wow, you took off your diaper?” she said. “That’s dumb. What if you have an accident?” He shook his head. “I’m not a baby, I don’t need diapers.” “Yuh-huh.” She looked down at him and shook her head, using one finger to point at his whole body. “I’m babysitting you tonight, and I am not about to deal with you pissing all over yourself. I’m in charge, you’re not, so you have to do whatever I say.” There was no point in arguing, though Kim glowered for a moment. “This is stupid.” Monica ignored the comment and turned to dig through her diaper bag, retrieving a puffy pink diaper in Kim’s size. When she took it out, she noticed Kim still standing there and seemed momentarily confused. “Uh…are you gonna lie down?” He groaned, but obeyed and flopped onto his bed. Monica stepped over and slid his shorts down, followed by his tighty-whities. “Wow, good job keeping these clean,” she commented without a hint of sarcasm, tossing the underwear onto the floor. Neither of them acknowledged his erection, since he couldn’t control that part of himself. Naked below the waist, Kim blushed and stared at the ceiling so that he didn’t have to watch. “I don’t need–” he began, before a plume of baby powder poured out over him, a mushroom cloud of white perfumed dust spreading into the air. He looked down in time to see that the cap had come off the baby powder tube, dousing his thighs, his groin, even some of his stomach with the lavender powder. “Oops,” Monica said, before sliding the diaper into place beneath his hips. “My room’s going to smell like baby powder forever,” Kim complained. “Better than smelling like dirty diapers,” she replied with a shrug. Before folding the diaper up, she took a moment to ‘massage the powder in’, though her real intent was obvious as she exclusively focused on stroking his erection, teasing him until he gasped before returning to the matter at hand. When she wrapped the diaper around him, she pressed his cock against his body so that it lay against his stomach, sticking out over the top of the waistband, then secured down the tapes. “There, that’s way better.” Kim sat up and reached down to adjust himself, but Monica slapped his hand away immediately. “No! Gross! Babies don’t touch themselves.” “I–” he started, exasperated. “I’m just adjusting things!” She grinned wickedly, slightly cracking her persona, but said, “Let your babysitter do it for you.” Reaching down, she slid a hand over the tip of his cock, fingers reaching inside the front of his diaper and stroking him teasingly. Kim bit his lip and tried not to squirm or make a sound as she fondled him, delighting in how desperate he felt, before pushing him down and into the diaper so that any accidents would stay inside the padding, though it now tented out awkwardly in a way that displayed his arousal even more overtly. “Alright.” Monica chewed her gum for a moment, as though her oral fixation was necessary to think. “There. Dinner’s supposed to be in the freezer, I think, I’m gonna go start that.” Kim looked down at the floor, where his shorts and underwear lay in a heap. Sheepishly aware of how his diaper puffed out around his hips, he asked, “Can I put my shorts back on?” “Uh…” Monica began, tapping her index finger on her lower lip in a moment of consideration. “Like…no.” Without hearing a word of complaint, she spun on her heels and left Kim alone in his room, frustrated and horny without an outlet. His willpower cracked in about ten seconds, and as soon as he heard Monica moving around in the kitchen, he reached for the phone on his nightstand. All he had to type was the letter P, and the rest of the URL autofilled, adult videos popping up on his screen in a matter of seconds. It took only moments for him to forget all about the babysitter in the kitchen, and his own hand slipped beneath the rustling waistband of his diaper, rubbing desperately against his erection as the logo and a little iconic jingle for the pornography played out on screen. Tracing his thumb over the head of his cock, he– “What the–no, no!” Monica called, rushing back into his room. He froze, one hand inside his diaper, the other holding his phone as a video of two people fucking played out. “I–” “Bad,” Monica said simply, crossing the room and plucking his phone from his hands. “Babies do not touch themselves, that’s totally inappropriate behavior!” “I’m not a baby!” he complained. “Then why’re you wearing a diaper?” she shot back, digging in her diaper bag once again. It was a ridiculous question. “Because you put me in one!” “Yeah.” Monica rolled her eyes, still focused on fishing in her things. “Because you’re a baby.” There was no winning for Kim. He glowered, but had nothing else to say except, “Can I have my phone back?” Monica shook her head, and produced a plastic box bedazzled with plastic stick-on rhinestones that read ‘Toy Time Out’. The lid showed several buttons and a small LED screen, and after dropping his phone inside, she pressed the ‘start’ button, which caused a ten minute timer to begin counting down. “You can have it back once your time-out is over,” she said. “For now–ten minutes in the corner.” Kim spluttered. “That’s so stupid.” “Well, I’m in charge, so…” Monica began, as though there was no need to finish the thought. “Nose in the corner, mister. I’m waiting.” Glowing with embarrassment, Kim stood and shuffled to the corner of his room. “Hands behind your head,” Monica warned. “I don’t want you doing any more gross stuff.” Shifting back and forth, Kim laced his fingers behind his head, frustration and denial clouding his thoughts. He’d been close before she interrupted him, and that lack of climax made his punishment all the more infuriating. Monica walked away, though she left his door open, and he could hear her out in the living room of his apartment. She said something he couldn’t make out, then giggled. She was on the phone, or just talking to herself, while Kim stood in time-out. He knew he had to look ridiculous. Standing there, nose in the corner, diaper rustling every time he shifted his weight, arousal refusing to die down even as boredom crept over him. Without any way to check the time, he convinced himself it was almost done, but every passing moment only led to more waiting, more boredom, more listening to Monica as she giggled into her phone. Her voice raised, and his ears twitched as he caught some words of the conversation. “Ugh–that’s huge.” (Is she talking about–) “Nnn, I wish I could, I’m stuck babysitting tonight though. But he goes to bed pretty early, so…I dunno.” A pause, then– “Oh yeah! Sorry, how do I…okay! Just a sec.” Kim distinctly heard a zipper sound, then the click of an artificial camera shutter. “Do you like those?” He could picture her with her breasts out, phone raised, snapping selfies as she flirted. Mind abuzz, he tried to think about anything else, but it was hard to distract himself when he had only the corner of the wall to keep his company. Minutes passed, he wasn’t sure how long, until his legs were sore from standing up straight and his arms were tired. Visions of his babysitter danced in his head, posing in various states of undress, but those fantasies only made his boredom worse, desires he couldn’t act on. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he finally shouted, “How much longer?” A moment passed, and he heard Monica reply, “Uh…” Turning to glance over his shoulder, he lowered his hands. “What?” She appeared in the doorway, no longer blowing gum, though now she was sucking on a cherry lollipop that matched her lipstick. Her top was a little disheveled, and he could see her lace panties over the top of her miniskirt. “Your time-out’s been over for like, forever.” He spun on his heels. “What?” “Yeah, were you standing there this whole time?” She giggled again. “Like…why?” Incredulity made him want to shout, but he felt ridiculous standing there in just a shirt and a diaper, and he didn’t want to look like he was throwing a fit. “How was I supposed to know?” “Ugh, don’t throw a tantrum about it,” Monica said. (But I didn’t–) he thought. (I’m–) Stepping up, she groped the front of his diaper, squeezing around where his cock pressed into the padding. “Huh, okay, well you’re not grumpy because you need a change,” she said, fondling him for a little longer before she pulled away. “Whatever. You can watch cartoons or something if you want until dinner.” “Right, din–” Kim’s eyes widened. “Wait, dinner. When did you put the pizza in?” Monica tilted her head. “What? Like, whenever your time-out started.” “I don’t know how long that was.” Reaching for the plastic box on his nightstand, Kim opened the now-unlocked lid and checked the time. Over half an hour had passed. She shrugged, and Kim moved past her, waddling to the kitchen, followed by his babysitter. The smell of burned pizza filled his nostrils, and he reached for the oven door– Monica caught his wrist. “Uh-uh, babies don’t touch hot things.” She lowered his hand and opened the oven, revealing a charred frisbee of what was once a pizza, smoldering in the oven. “Uh…oops.” “Didn’t you set a timer?” Kim demanded. “Hey, don’t sass me,” she said, “Unless you want to spend the whole night in the corner.” He shook his head, aware that she would absolutely follow through on the threat. “Okay.” “Say you’re sorry,” she challenged, closing the oven door. “But–” “Say it,” she insisted. Looking down at his toes, Kim mumbled, “Sorry…” “See, was that so hard? Plus, I think there’s something else you can eat,” she said, flouncing to the freezer. Kim knew there wasn’t much in there besides the pizza, just a frozen dinner and an old, slightly freezer-burned bag of peas, but it still made him cringe when she opened it. Immediately she seized the frozen dinner and looked at it, turning it over in her hands. “Nice, I’ll have this!” “But–” Kim started. “But what? You can have these,” she said, holding up the bag of peas. “It’s healthier.” “That’s–” he spluttered. “Peas are gross!” She looked at him with an expression that said, ‘Am I supposed to care?’, but just said, “Go watch TV or something, I’ve got to make dinner.” Unable to suppress a snide comment, Kim said, “You mean make dinner again?” Naturally, that landed him in the corner again, where he spent another fifteen minutes standing while Monica struggled not to burn a microwave dinner. This time, he at least tried to count the minutes in his head more carefully, though his ‘babysitter’ retrieved him when the food was done, before the count was up. She sat him down at the table, tucked a napkin into his shirt as an improvised bib, and then dinnertime began. “Aaaand…here comes the airplane!” Monica held a spoonful of mushy, slightly grey looking peas, floating it in front of Kim’s mouth. He stared down at it, cross-eyed and dubious. “Is it supposed to look like that?” “Uh, yeah.” She looked between him and the spoon. “Pretty sure.” “Bu–” he barely managed to get his lips open before she shoved the spoon forward, filling his mouth with overcooked vegetables. Half of it ended up on his face, and he wished that all of it had; the flavor managed to be both overpowering and watery, with a hint of slime that really reinforced that this wasn’t food meant for anyone with taste buds. He screwed up his face in disgust, but Monica just laughed, scraping up some of the mashed pea from off his face, though the effort only spread it around up to his cheeks. “Don’t you like, know how to use a spoon?” She’d been the one to get it everywhere! Not only was this her fault, not only was she making him eat the mush to begin with, she was going to blame him for making a mess? Growing red with anger, Kim snapped, “This is gross!” “I did what it said on the bag,” Monica replied, as though that excused the flavor. “But, fine, whatever. If you finish your dinner you can have some candy.” It wasn’t a real offer, she was going to make him finish the food either way. The only opportunity offered by the candy was that it might wash out the taste of the mush when he was done. He looked down, glowered, pouted, but still gave a timid nod. “Alright then…” Monica said, loading up the spoon with more peas. “Choo choo! Here comes the airplane!” “That’s not even the sound an airp–” Another mouthful of mush interrupted him, and Kim choked it down, squirming his way through the bite. It went like that, unpleasant sludge shoveled from bowl to mouth, with Kim wriggling and trying to think of anything except the taste of the peas, the feel of the slime that was at this point smeared across his cheeks, nose, and chin, the teasing comments she gave at every sour face and the general state of messiness he now lived in. And, above all, he tried not to think about the pervading arousal that refused to go away, no matter how gross the entire experience of dinner had turned out to be. As the bowl emptied and Monica set it aside, Kim felt almost drunk, somehow feeling more empty than he had before eating. Any resistance he felt able to give had been eroded, all his willpower had gone to simply choking down the dinner, and there was not much left in him that could complain. “Alright.” Monica leaned over the table, reaching down to again squeeze the front of his diaper. Her touch lasted for several agonizing, teasing moments, fingers tracing circles over the bulging padding, before she said, “Wow, you like, actually can almost sorta hold it.” “Can I…” he said, swallowing to try and get the taste out of his mouth. “Have that candy now?” “Oh sure, just…first, you’re a mess, you got food all over your clothes.” Reaching down, she took his shirt and pulled it up, half blinding Kim as it got stuck halfway off his body. After some struggling, she got it off the rest of the way, and used the shirt to wipe his face clean of the pea mush she’d put there. Only then did she dig in her diaper bag for a square of chocolate, wrapped in silver foil. Kim reached for it, but instead she unwrapped it and held it up. “Aaaand…open wide!” Of course, he wouldn’t even be allowed to eat that on his own. He obeyed, and she set the chocolate square in his mouth. The quality didn’t matter, anything sweet and made to actually taste good was a godsend, so he chewed and swallowed before she could change her mind and take the prize away from him. “Alright,” Monica declared. “Go play with blocks or watch cartoons or whatever, your bedtime’s in an hour.” “An hour?” Kim demanded, shocked, pointing at the clock on the microwave. “It’s not supposed to be until nine!” Monica looked at the clock, which read ‘7:15,’ then back at him. “Uh…it will be nine?” “No, it will–” “Look, just because you can’t count, that’s not my problem.” She shrugged. “Unless you want to go to bed now?” He squirmed once again. “No…” “So, like, whatever. Bedtime in an hour.” A horrified thought struck him, recalling back to what she’d been doing while he was in time out. She just wanted to send him to bed so he’d be out of the way, so she could get back to sexting with whoever was on the other end of that phone conversation! Unless… He looked at Monica, who was taking the pause to inspect her appearance in the reflection of her fingernails. She was an idiot, but for all of it, he didn’t know if she was even capable of that level of subterfuge. He didn’t know what was worse–losing forty-five minutes of freedom because his babysitter couldn’t do basic math, or because his airhead babysitter was tricking him. Both sent a shudder down his back. Naked save for his diaper, Kim slipped off the kitchen chair, dejected and uncertain. His bladder had begun to twinge, signalling his need to use the bathroom, but he could picture that conversation in his head without playing it out. He’d ask her to use the toilet, she’d say he was in a diaper, he’d object, she’d say something condescending and humiliating, he’d argue, she’d infuriate him, he’d end up in trouble. With pleading eyes, Kim asked, “Can I…use the toilet?” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You’re, like…wearing a diaper.” “But I can hold it!” Kim objected. “So? Hold it, then,” Monica said. “If you’re really potty trained, then don’t go, but don’t cry to me about it when you have an accident.” “But that’s stup–” –Kim found himself in the corner once again, bladder full, thoughts resolutely refusing to focus on anything except how desperate he was to touch himself. He’d earned himself thirty minutes, though he doubted that number would be enforced rigorously. Monica wasn’t paying attention, she wasn’t even trying to. He wasn’t going to escape wetting the diaper, that much was obvious. He could hold it for a while, but his babysitter was supposed to watch him until morning, and he didn’t think anyone could hold it for that long, not with the pressure he already felt. He could have held it for longer, if he’d tried, but there was increasingly little point in trying to fight against Monica’s rules. She was in charge, and she had set him up to fail. With only the corner to see his blush, he released his bladder, flooding the diaper with warmth that spread around his trembling cock. Shame burned on his face as the soggy warmth spread, saturating the padding, causing what was once dry to swell around him. There was no more ignoring it. He needed to touch himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he stole a peek through his open bedroom door, but he couldn’t see Monica watching him. Once certain he wouldn’t be caught, he lowered his hands, slid one down the front of his diaper, and began to stroke. He didn’t need long. Between all the teasing, the humiliation, and the need, he was pent up and desperate. Just a little rubbing, a little sensation, and– “Are you–oh my god, gross, no!” He didn’t make it. Before Kim could have more than a few seconds of pleasure, Monica burst in and any hope in his heart died. Monica pulled him from the corner and yanked his hand from his diaper, observing that the white padding had turned a bright yellow. “See? This is why you don’t do that–now you’ve got piss all over your hands. Gross!” “I–” Kim stammered, but she held his wrist and shook her head. “Nope. If you can’t play with your toys nicely, I’ll have to take them away.” “My hands?” he spluttered. “How–?” She had already let him go, and turned to dig through her diaper bag once more. This was…a stretch, admittedly, but too much of the fantasy to leave out. She produced a sturdy canvas diaper cover with durable straps and loops built in, and a matching pair of pink mittens. Going for the mittens first, she opened one up and held it out. “Come on, hands.” A thousand ‘Buts’ ran through Kim’s head, and he tried to decide which one to go with. “You’re already getting ten minutes,” she said. “Do you want to make it thirty? Cuz it’s all the same to me if you get in trouble until bedtime.” “Just fifteen minutes?” he asked, hopeful that he’d still have a chance once it was bedtime and he was alone. She nodded. “Well, yeah.” Tentatively, he stuck a hand into the first mitten, then did the same with the other. Monica tugged the straps on them through a loop, then clicked two locks in place, sealing them onto his hands. Then, for good measure, she held up the diaper cover. “To make sure you don’t get my mittens all gross,” she said. “Because you totally would stick them into your pissy diaper if I didn’t. I’m not stupid.” Trembling, Kim stepped into the cover, and with a few adjustments to the strap around the waist, Monica locked it as well. Taking the key from her bag, she held it up for him to see, then dropped it into the lockbox. Kim’s stomach sank as she began pressing buttons, each time producing a solid click, adding minutes to his punishment. Click, click, click– “That was more than ten!” he yelped. “Uh…yeah, I can’t make this count down,” she said, sheepishly staring at the lid. “Okay, thirteen, whatever.” She closed the lid and pressed start. “Thirteen minutes, then we’ll see if you can stop being such a naughty baby with your hands.” The worst part was, she was right, for once. He didn't have the willpower to keep his hands away, even with–or maybe because of–the warm squish around his groin that pressed into him with every movement. Another concern struck him then, looking down at his snugly locked up diaper and nullified hands. A cramping in his belly, more sudden and sharp than it had any right to be. His eyes widened. (No, she couldn't have–) Waddling to the kitchen, he pawed at the lid to the trash bin, though he couldn't get it open through the mittens. “Monica!” “What are you doing?” She asked, watching from the next room, genuinely curious and not mad. “I need to see the label from the candy,” he explained. Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh shit, are you allergic or something?” Crossing to the trash bin, she opened it and snatched the wrapping from the chocolate. “What am I looking for?” Kim could see it clearly from the backside of the wrapper. Fast Acting Choc-Lax. (She's not that stupid, is she?) “Where did you get that?” He asked. “I found it in the bathroom, next to the aspirin,” she replied, calmed down now that she had ruled out allergies. “Was it hidden as a surprise?” “It's a laxative!” He yelped. “You drugged me!” “A laxative?” She asked. “I didn't stick it up your butt.” “No, but–it’s going to make me need to…” he squirmed and looked down, blushing. “Go number two.” She stared at him blankly, confused at what the issue could even be. “So? You aren't potty trained, so it's not like that changes anything.” He stamped his foot in sheer pique. “I am potty trained!” Monica snorted. “You just said you were gonna poop your pants, baby. That's not ‘very ‘potty trained’ behavior.” His stomach gurgled noisily, churning with the effects of the ‘candy’ he’d been rewarded with. He put both mittened hands over his stomach and paced, fighting off the sheer humiliation that would come if he actually filled his diaper in front of his babysitter. Checking her phone, Monica said, “Oh, and your bedtime’s in like…basically once your toy time-out is over.” That was no time at all, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to complain when he was focused on not losing the last shreds of his dignity. But– “Once I go to bed, will you still let me change if I need it?” he asked, feeling pathetic for even voicing the question. She rolled her eyes. “Nah. Bedtime’s bedtime, no cheating just ‘cuz you had an accident.” Then…he had to decide now.; Try and hold it all night, battling laxative-induced cramps, or give up, concede defeat, and at least get a clean diaper before Monica put him to bed. Given how hard he was struggling already, less than an hour after eating the chocolate, that was no choice at all. Looking around, he tried to see if he could get any privacy, and settled on waddling towards his room. “Where’re you going?” Monica asked, more confused than anything. “My…room,” he said, “So I can use my diaper.” “Uh…yeah, no.” She shook her head. “You’re sneaking off to try and touch yourself again.” “But–” “I’m not like, dumb,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “You’ve been trying to play with yourself all night, and you keep complaining that you’re potty trained, so what, I’m supposed to believe that suddenly you’re just going to go poop your pants on purpose?” That was largely what he wanted her to believe, though when she said it like that, even Kim doubted himself. “I mean…yes?” “Then do it.” Monica crossed her arms in front of her chest and waited, tapping a foot. “But–” “Now, buddy, or you’ll be in time out until bedtime for lying, and then you won’t have time for a diaper change either.” She pointed one finger at his locked-up diaper for extra emphasis. “Go on, prove it.” Kim burned red, but he had no choice. Humiliate himself in front of Monica, or be trapped in a dirty diaper all night once the laxatives won. He cast his eyes down, balled up his fists, and bent his knees slightly, praying he could just teleport somewhere else and cease to exist. Instead, all his concentration and effort got him was a new defeat, surrendering to the drugs he’d been fed and allowing his control to end. Solid muck began to fill the seat of his diaper, like warm mud being poured down the back of his pants, and once he started there was no more stopping it. Monica snorted, caught herself, then began to laugh. “Oh my god,” she announced, while Kim was trapped in the middle of loading his diaper. “You’re actually going? On purpose?” He looked up and saw her in the midst of a giggle fit, and his embarrassment only flared hotter. “I–you said–” “You said you didn’t have any potty training problems,” Monica wheezed, chest shaking so that her breasts bounced with every fit of laughter. “So I guess you just wanted to poop your diaper, huh?” “No!” he yelped, though it was hard to argue when bulging, smelly mush was still inflating his diaper, making it sag as he packed it full beneath the locking cover. Monica covered her face as a shield against the foul smell, then laughed even harder. “Oh god–you really stink. Too bad you can’t even pinch your nose–I guess you shouldn’t have been such a gross baby.” Finally, the outpouring of his dignity ended, and Kim wobbled, lightheaded and barely coherent. “I…” he mumbled. “Um–” With an enormous eye-roll, Monica stepped up to him, reached down, and groped the seat of his diaper, pressing the squelchy mess into him. His erection, which hadn’t even come close to going down, only surged harder with the humiliation as she ‘checked’ his diaper, confirming what was abundantly obvious. “Wow,” she said. “I…ugh, fine. I guess I have to change you, since it’s not bedtime yet. Just a sec…” Turning, she walked away, leaving him to stand there with his diaper sagging and legs splayed, helpless to do anything about the stinky, heavy diaper he’d been trapped in. He couldn’t even fumble at the lock; without hands, the most he could do was paw at it, trying to pull it free, trying to– “Wow, you’re still trying to touch yourself?” Monica asked, waltzing back in from his bedroom. He turned a shade more red, if that was possible. “What? No, I–” “Yeah, I don’t believe you, so…” she said, before looking a bit guilty. “Uh…about the toy time out.” Kim knew what she was about to say, but still allowed the horror to creep over him. “What?” “I, uh…” Monica rubbed at the back of her neck. “May have accidentally set the timer to not be in minutes.” “Not…what?” “But,” Monica said, looking more cheery. “Bright side, I don’t have to get anywhere near that for another thirteen hours. I don’t really do dirty diaper changes normally, so that’s like…cool.” He was trapped anyway. He’d done what she said, he’d filled his diaper right in front of her, choosing not to try and hold it, and he was trapped anyway. “Ugh,” Monica continued, lost in her own train of thought. “But if you’re pawing at it all night, it’ll get super gross, and you’re too dumb to try not to…” “I won’t!” Kim’s voice cracked on the lie, both of them knew he’d still try it. Monica shook her head, then reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Whatever, it’s bedtime.” “I still have ten minutes!” “Who’s in charge here, exactly? Because I don’t think the baby in a poopy diaper gets to make any grown-up decisions.” She pulled him towards his bed, then turned, once again, to fish in her ‘diaper bag’. This time she produced a pair of velcro cuffs with clips, the kind that anyone with fingers could easily undo. Unfortunately, with the mittens, Kim was pretty helpless even when it came to a simple clip. “Lie down,” she said, moving to wrap one of the cuffs on the right side of his headboard, then mirroring the motion on the left. Kim hesitated, so she pushed him down, forcing one of his hands up to the clip. Snapping the mitten in place, she wiggled his wrist, seeing how much range of motion he had before locking his other wrist to the far side of the headboard. Standing back, she admired her handiwork. “There–now you won’t do anything yucky while you’re asleep.” Kim wriggled and kicked his legs, but all that accomplished was making his diaper squish between his thighs. He couldn’t lower his hands below his neck, he could only lay there and squirm, trapped with his yucky diaper and his thoughts. “What if there’s an emergency?” he asked. “You can’t just leave me tied up all night!” “Don’t worry about it, poopy butt,” Monica teased, removing one more device from her bag–a baby monitor, which she sat on his nightstand. “I’ve got this. If you need something, I’ll hear you calling for it.” He whimpered and gave the restraints one last tug, but with his wrists bound, hands trapped in mittens, and diaper locked securely around his waist, there was nothing else he could do. “Sleepytime, baby,” Monica said, turning to sashay out of his room, moving her hips side to side and swaying her body just to tease him a little more before she turned out the light and shut the door. Kim wriggled, tugged at his restraints, and tried humping the air just to get a little sensation through the layers of abused diaper, but it wasn’t enough. The modicum of friction he could get, squishing the front of his diaper around, was just enough to be teasing, aggravating, worse than nothing. And, as he tried, he heard the baby monitor crackle to life. “Ugh, now that twerp is finally to bed…where were we?” Monica’s voice, loud and clear, echoing through the baby monitor. “Don’t worry, he can’t hear us,” Monica continued. “He’s asleep in the other room. Did you like the pictures I sent?” She was flirting on the phone. Raising his head, Kim spoke towards the baby monitor. “Monica? Can you…I think you did something wrong.” She didn’t reply. She couldn’t hear him, even though he could hear her loud and clear. She’d mixed up the monitor, leaving the receiver in his room. That meant he couldn’t get her attention if he wanted it. It also meant he could hear every moment of her flirting on the phone, the tug of a zipper, and then the totally unashamed, blissful groaning as Monica began to touch herself. There was nothing Kim could do. His thoughts were eroded away, and the only sensations he could comprehend were desperation and degradation. Trying to hump at nothing only left him out of breath, panting, breathing in smelly air, and trying not to hump left him unable to think about anything except how badly he wanted to rip his hands free and start rubbing the front of his diaper. Monica’s pleasure only sent that need to new heights, her every gasp and moan reminding him that she was getting the pleasure he’d been denied. All Kim could hope was that, once this was over, she would be willing to babysit him again. ... Support is always appreciated! A couple bucks a month goes a long way, and my subs get early access and exclusive content! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

This was written as part of a collaboration with another prolific producer of extremely kinky shit, @Sissy Becky! Sissy Becky used to run an ABDL website way back on the day. Now they write “Adult Baby Research Institute” a long form serial about a ABDL BSDM sex asylum where everything is turned up to 11. Catch their work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sissybecky And, they also wrote 'Part One' to this story! If you want the full context and backstory of what's going on here, I highly recommend you go read the very huffy, blushy prequel to this piece of writing! Baby's Date, the first half of the story by Sissy Becky, can be found here: https://www.legitfic.com/o/836-babys-date---collab-with-peculiar-changeling ... Baby's Date “So… who are they?” you ask Mommy, while she lathers up your hair with tear-free shampoo. Since promising that you’d get your very own ‘Grown-up date’, she’s been uncharacteristically coy about any details. All you know is to expect a blind date, and that everything has been prepared for you. You’ve got concerns. It could be someone else from the kinky community–a friend or at least an acquaintance with similar interests. Or, heck, it could be someone you’ve never so much as met, a real grown-up with no idea what your bedroom looks like. You might get some clues as you get prepared, though–you haven’t even been told what you’ll be wearing. You’re excited, anyways. The anticipation–the possibility of actually getting some proper grown up fun–is enough to put up with the dog and pony show Mommy and Daddy are putting you through. “Arms up,” Mommy instructs, ignoring your question completely. You lift, and she scrubs under your armpits with a soapy washcloth. “Can’t have you all smelly before we even get you dressed, can we?” (Is that a clue?) You wonder. (Or is she just teasing about the state of my diaper last night?) You could just safeword and ask, but what’d be the fun in that? You didn’t want to be told plainly, you wanted to guess it. It had to be someone she knew well, didn’t it? After you’re washed, rinsed, and helped out of the bath, she pats you down with a towel, then pats your bottom with her hand. “Go see daddy, he’s in your nursery.” Squeaky clean and naked from tip to toe, you’ve got no choice but to toddle out of the bathroom, arms crossed over your chest, hurrying to get to your nursery and get some clothes on. The transition from tub to air always makes you think you’re going to freeze, conjuring image of a ‘you popsicle’, and without any clothing to help warm you up you’re shivering in moments. Daddy is waiting next to your changing table when you get to your room, and your heart sinks, just a little. That isn’t a guarantee that you won’t be going out with a real grown up, but it does mean they’ll find out if you want to have any naughty fun. More likely, it’ll be one of your kinky acquaintances or friends, taking you on a pity date. “Bottoms up,” Daddy instructs, patting on your changing table. A bright pink Bunny Hopp diaper is already laid out, for you to lay upon. You obey–what else can you do? If you refuse, you don’t get your date. Taking Daddy’s hands, you crawl up onto the table and get on your back, diaper laid below your hips. Instead of the expected sensations, though–powder and cream and then ruffly padding pulled over you–Daddy surprises you with something else. Watching, you can only squirm anxiously as he bends to the shelf below the table. He unscrews a plastic lid, comes out with a small object, and stands again, holding a little bullet of glycerin. “But–” you start to say. “Do you want to go on your date gagged?” he asks in reply. You shake your head. “Then the only ‘butts’ tonight should be the one in your diapers.” You swallow, but lift your bottom a little to give Daddy free access to you. He pushes the glycerin suppository deep inside, so deep that you whimper, then pulls his finger free and cleans it off with a baby wipe. Only then do you get the cold, soothing cream, and the thin dusting of scented powder, and finally the diaper being folded over your waist. Your anticipation of the night recalibrates. If you’re going to be in a smelly diaper–and you will be, you’ve never once managed to hold it for more than thirty minutes after a suppository came into play–it can’t possibly be a vanilla person. It has to be one of your friends, and one who doesn’t mind poopy diapers. The options shrink, and you realize you’re most likely in for a night of teasing at the hands of one of Mommy or Daddy’s dommy friends. “Stay there,” Daddy says, bending over at the edge of the changing table. “Now, when grown ups go on dates, they try to dress up in sexy clothes for each other. You want that too, right?” You nod. “Uh-huh.” “Of course you do. You’re just like a little grown up,” he assures you, and you hear a lid open. You know what’s over there on that end of the table, and what that lid sound was. In confirmation, the smell of old diapers assaults your senses a moment later, and you screw up your face, reaching to cover your nose. He comes out with an overnight diaper–your diaper, the one you’d been put to bed in, the one that the prunes and castor oil had already done a number on. It’s heavy and sagging in his hands, smelly from the mess you pushed into it. “Bottoms up.” You almost–almost–say the dreaded ‘B’ word, ‘but’. Before you do, you catch yourself and just say, “That’s not sexy!” “You thought it was, though, didn’t you?” he asks. “Last month, while you watched Mommy and I without our permission, you had a stinky diaper just like this one and you were about ready to burst in it! If you didn’t think it was sexy, why were you doing that?” You’ve got no argument, no defense, no excuse for why you were rubbing yourself so desperately the night before. Sheepishly, it’s all you can do to raise your hips, to allow him to slide the mucky old diaper beneath your current, fresh padding. The sides of it are cold, and you shiver as he folds it over, using the restickable hook-and-loop tapes to seal the clammy, putrid diaper onto you. “How’s that feel?” he asks, pulling you into a sitting position. Your weight sinks, and you hesitate. It’s a lot of bulk, and you can smell it plain as day, but it’s different from normal. “Weird,” you admit. “It’s clean and dirty at the same time.” He chuckles. “Don’t worry, that won’t be a problem for you for much longer. Up!” Responsively, you hop to your feet, and he bends again, picking up the prepared outfit he’d stowed beneath the table. First comes a pair of fabric training pants–they’re almost as bulky as a diaper, and though not as absorbent, it’s not like he perforated your inner diaper anyways. It’s clearly not to prevent leaks, just to add even more poof to your already heavy, bulky baby bottom. You step into them, and when he pulls the puffy training pants up, the bulk makes you feel like you can barely close your thighs, let alone walk. After this, comes the onesie. The onesie, the one Daddy likes to parade you around in, decorated with cartoon strawberries and stitched with a bib that reads, clearly, ‘Crybaby’ in big swoopy letters. He pulls it over your head and has to stretch the elastic fabric almost to its limits to button the snaps around your very impressive padding. But he’s not quite done. As the final pièce de résistance, a pair of frilly pink plastic pants, with rhumba ruffles on the seat, are tugged up your legs. They seal snugly around your diaper, completing the ensemble, and one thing is certain: You’re not even leaving the house tonight. Your ‘date’ is going to be coming to you. You’re not getting a real grown-up date at all, you’re going to be treated to dinner and humiliation. That’s not what you were promised, and you start to tear up, highlighting the truth of your ‘crybaby’ bib. “There you go,” Daddy says, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, preserving your moment of deep humiliation and frustration forever with a little camera ‘click’. “Now, just one more thing…” You don’t even know what he could add to the outfit. Maybe a bonnet? Or a bib? But instead, he steps forward and reaches down, rubbing his hand against the front of your diaper, eliciting a desperate moan from between your lips. In a whisper, he asks, “This is what you really wanted, right? Do you really think you’re big enough for a grown up date, or would you rather admit you’re nothing but a bitty baby and have fun in your play clothes?” It’s unclear where he produced the vibrator from, but you hear it kick to life in the same second you feel it pulse through your layers of padding, transmuting your words into juvenile mumbles. You cover your mouth with your hands to stifle your whimpers, legs locking up as you ride the pleasure. But you don’t say, ‘Yes’, you don’t admit anything, and after riling you up just enough to get you horny and purge your head of any coherent thoughts, Daddy kills the vibrator. “There. Grown ups need to get in the mood before their dates sometimes. You’re all ready now!” You swallow, and your belly grumbles. “Are you gonna tell me who it is yet?” He shakes his head, taking your hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough. You wait here, and I’ll come get you when she arrives, okay?” She! That’s a clue! You almost don’t notice that he’s steered you into the corner of the room and pushed your nose against the wall, quietly asserting your time-out without even needing to say those words, because your brain is reeling with the implications. That cuts down the options by more than half, and the list of possible friends who could be coming by rolls through your mind. Some are meaner than others—you’re expecting mean, someone who will tease you and mock you to put the idea of ‘grown up dates’ out of your head, even as you still quietly hope that it might be someone who will treat you gently, someone who will take you as you are and pretend—no, not pretend, but see the truth—that you’ve still got a bit of ‘grown up’ in you. You swallow. Maybe you’ll at least be able to come say hi before the suppository does its work and you fill your diaper—though, the reek wafting off your old diaper, the one sandwiched between your new one and your training pants, will likely dash any hope of dignity before it can even be formed. Still, you’re going to try, if for no other reason than that Mommy and Daddy will point out your inability to hold it if you lose control while your nose is in the corner. It’s not long before you hear footsteps—the light flappy thwip-thwip of Mommy’s flip-flops—and feel a hand on your shoulder. “Your date is here, sweetie.” There’s a slight giggle, and she adds, “Don’t worry, I don’t think she’ll say anything about the smell.” You turn pink as you get out of the corner. Mommy offers you her hand, and you take it, waddling awkward after her—you can’t tell if she’s moving faster than normal to make you struggle in your triple-layered, heavy padding, or if the difficulty you’re having is just from the sheer bulk and tight fabric pulling it against you. Either way, you’re led downstairs, towards your dining room, excitedly anticipating who will be… Oh. Oh. Sitting at the dining room table, which has been lit with candles while mood music sets the tone, is your favorite stuffy. Peaches, a thirty inch plush fox that’s shaped roughly like a big pillow, with a permanent cutesy smile printed on her fabric face. Your stomach drops, and the suppository takes advantage, overpowering your bowels and forcing warm, semisolid mush into the seat of your previously clean diaper. Mommy giggles. “Don’t be shy, baby, go introduce yourself–once you’re done going potty, at least.” A grunt escaped your throat and your face screws up, tears showing. This isn’t fair. It’s not what you wanted, or what you promised! You were supposed to go on a grown up date, you weren’t supposed to muck your diapers in front of one of your stuffies and be teased for it. Mommy nudges you forward, and you waddle up, sitting in the chair across from Peaches. Your weight sinks into your newly-deposited mess, and you squirm, reminded that you weren’t given any satisfaction during Daddy’s teasing earlier. At least you weren’t put into a high chair. “Say hi,” Mommy prompts. You blush. “Mommy, I can do this myself!” She makes a ‘tsk’ noise in her throat. “You thought it was okay to watch Daddy and I during our grown up fun, I think it’s only fair that we get to be here for yours.” You squirm, but tamp down before you can say the ‘B’ word. Squirming, you look at Peaches. “Um…” “It’s polite to tell your date about yourself,” Mommy instructs. “Why don’t you tell her how many stinky diapers you’ve made this month?” “Um…” You flush, trying to mentally consider–over the whole month? While you were being teased and punished and made to be as flustered as possible? One a day seems reasonable, so you guess, “Thirty?” “It’s not nice to lie,” Mommy chides. “Be specific–tell her about all of them.” Pinkness spreads up your face, until you’re certain your blush has reached past your eyebrows. “Um–well–uh–last night, I went in bed, ‘cuz mommy and daddy gave me castor oil…and the night before, I just couldn’t hold it, cuz they hadn’t let me use the potty at all and I didn’t want to go in my daytime diaper, and…ugh, they gave me a suppository the day before while I was in time out, so…” You feel yourself sink deeper and deeper into your seat as you have to regale Peaches with each stinky accident–and, worse, as you go back further and further, you start to feel certain you’ve forgotten some. You’ve been so helpless to use the potty this past month that you can’t even remember all the accidents–the times you’ve been allowed to use a toilet are far, far more noteworthy. Finally, though, you get to the beginning of the month, to the accident you couldn’t forget even if you wanted to. “Um–and, a month ago, I…I was sitting in my special chair, in Mommy and Daddy’s room, and–” The humiliating confession is cut off by Daddy’s entrance, carrying a little clipboard. The ‘Waiter’, it seemed, for the ‘Date’. “Welcome to our restaurant, may I take your order?” he says, smirking and wrinkling his nose at you. Rather than ask what you want, though, he turns to face Peaches. “Excellent choice, ma’am. And what will your date be having?” Your eyes widen. You–Peaches is even ordering for you. You won’t even be allowed to pick what you eat! “Oh, your date needs a high chair? Of course,” Daddy says, nodding. “I’ll be right back with that, and your drinks.” He walks away, leaving you to sniffle and wipe at your face while Mommy captures more photographs of your predicament—you weren’t even getting the one dignity you thought, the grown up chair. When Daddy returns a moment later, he’s dragging your high chair with one hand and carrying two cups in the other—one, an icy glass of cola which he sets in front of Peaches, the other, a plastic sippy cup decorated with teddy bears, and the fluid inside is a chalky white. He sets the high chair next to your chair—it’s your chair, you don’t need to move, it’s not fair! Expectantly, he waits. When you refuse to budge, he reaches down, grabs you by the ear, and tows you up, forcing you into the high chair. Unlike grown-up chairs, the seat is a little rounded, conforming to your thickly padded bottom, squelching everything more tightly against you. The tray is locked down over your lap, and your sippy cup is placed in front of you. “Daddy…” you whimper. “I’m just making sure you and your date are comfortable,” he promises. Mommy laughs at your confounded, defeated expression, and snaps another photo. Daddy takes food orders—again, listening exclusively to Peaches and ignoring what you want—and then leaves the room. “So, um…” you start to say, to Peaches. You don’t know why you’re talking to her, but it just seems like the thing to do. Nervously, you pick up your sippy cup and take a sip—it’s formula, with a chalky aftertaste. You stick out your tongue. “Gross!” Off to the side, Mommy giggles. Fumbling for words, you squirm, but that only makes you more aware of the mucky state of your diaper, and the after-cramps that are still sending wracks of discomfort down your belly–possibly a coincidence, possibly as a result of whatever chalky medicine Mommy and Daddy put in your bottle. Instead of words, you only let loose a little grunt, your bowels squelching a bit more ick into your padding. “Dinner,” Daddy declares, sashaying into the room, “is served.” Two bowls are set out in front of you both. Peaches gets a slice of rich, savory meatloaf, with perfect, fluffy mashed potatoes, butter dribbling down the sides. In front of you, a bowl full of white slop with a spoon poking out. You eye the contents suspiciously, sniff, and–yogurt. It’s plain yogurt, and your nose wrinkles at the sour odor instantly. Gross, gross, gross. “N-no, I want what Peaches has,” you protest. “No alterations or substitutions,” Daddy insists, tilting his head as though listening to your stuffy. “Oh, your date needs a little assistance? Of course.” Bending slightly, he picks up the spoon, lifting it towards your mouth. You seal your lips and turn your head, pouting, but he gives you The Look. If you continue to fuss and refuse to eat, you know you’ll regret it. There are much, much worse things he could be forcing down your throat, and you both know it. You open your mouth. Sour, slimy yogurt fills your cheeks, a little brushing on your lips, assaulting you with the sharp, unpleasant taste. You swallow, desperate to get the slime off your tongue, but before you have any relief, a new spoonful is waiting. Unable to do anything except accept the sludge as it’s spooned into your mouth, your eyes lock on Peaches. On her ‘dinner’, the plate of tantalizing grown-up food only a few feet away. The smell makes your stomach growl, but the only satisfaction you’re going to get is from not having to swallow any more yogurt. The bowl is deeper than you thought, and Daddy’s piled-high, sloppy spoonfuls don’t seem to deplete it as fast as they should. You can feel the slimy yogurt on your lips, wet and clammy, and know there’s a little that’s dribbled onto the stitched-on bib of your onesie. The bib that reads ‘Crybaby’. The one you’re about to prove true yet again as you fuss and debate closing your lips to any more of the goopy dinner. But, just as your belly feels a little too full and you’re ready to scream, the bowl runs dry. Daddy scrapes out one final spoonful, taking his time to get as much as possible, and plops it between your lips. You swallow, gag, and it’s done. Finally. Quietly, Daddy says over to Mommy, “Do you think our little one’s earned grown up time?” You sit up straight, suddenly the model of obedience. You don’t even wipe off the last bit of yogurt on your lip–you just want a yes, even if that ‘grown up time’ is with Peaches. Mommy takes a long pause before answering, drawing out her, “Hmmmm…” You can’t help yourself. Looking over your shoulder, eyes huge, you give your most helpless pleading look. “Please?” She smiles and nods. “Alright, I suppose.” Excitement completely drowns out all the discomfort–yes, yes, yes! Beaming, you start to try and get up, only remembering a second later that you’re still strapped into the high chair and can’t actually move under your own power. “I’ll go get her ready,” Mommy says, reaching over to pick up Peaches while Daddy wipes your face down, doing an unnecessarily thorough job. “Do I–” you stammer. “Do I really get to? You’re not going to stop me or tell me ‘no’ right as I’m almost done?” Daddy notices the slight anxiety in your voice. It’s barely there, but it’s there—the uncertainty is almost to the point of not being fun anymore. Reassuringly, he pops the latches on your high chair. “You might not like how it happens,” he hedges, “But you’ll get to make a sticky diaper if you’re obedient.” That’s good enough for you, you practically jump out of the highchair into giving Daddy a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank–urp—” You’re interrupted by a heavy pat on your back, drawing out a belch you hadn’t expected. Face turning pink, you drop right back into the situation, reminded of what you’re wearing, the bulk and weight and squelch between your legs, and the thing you’ve gotten so excited for—a few seconds of humping a plushie in your ruined diapers. You look down, and Daddy pulls you by the hand towards the stairs. “Let’s go up, ok?” What are you going to do, argue? You follow, hand outstretched in front of you as he takes the lead. You want what he’s offering, you want it so badly that any humiliation is worth being suffered. Waddling forward in double-thick ruined diapers and puffy training pants, eating anything they feed you, throwing out your dignity for their entertainment. Or…if you’re being honest with yourself, the humiliation isn’t being suffered at all. It’s almost as indulgent as the sex you’re hoping to get in a moment. Mommy’s already in your nursery, leaning over the side of the crib, and you spot what she’s done instantly—Peaches has been adorned with a strap-on, just like the one Mommy had worn a month ago, an intimidating dildo extending from the midpoint of her plush body. She rests on your crib, the side bars held open so you’ve got access to her. “Be a good date,” Mommy encourages. “Show her a good time—don’t just worry about yourself.” “O-okay,” you say, looking at her, then up at Daddy. “Um–can I have a little privacy?” Mommy giggles, as though you just asked for a pony and a magic wand. “Of course not, silly—you thought it was okay to watch us during our grown up time, right? So that means we should get to watch you, too.” Oh. Oh. Oh. That’s what Daddy meant by, ‘You might not like how it happens.’ “But…” You say, forgetting the rule for a moment. No, ‘Buts’. “Oh, you’re worried we won’t enjoy the show enough, aren’t you?” Mommy asks, reaching for her pocket. “It’s okay—I’ll make sure we can enjoy it, again and again.” She produces her phone, directing the camera lens right at you. You flush, but you know you’re getting off light–for using the B word, you could have had your pleasure denied completely. Still, you cover your face with your hands, mortified. “Aww, baby’s all shy now,” Daddy says. “It’s alright–go show Peaches you know what grown-up sex looks like… even if you can’t do it yourself.” You drop to your knees. Walking just doesn’t feel appropriate right now. On all fours, you shuffle across the room, your layered, poopy diapers swaying between your thighs, barely held in place by your straining onesie. Reaching to the side of the crib in front of Peaches, you feel another cramp. Maybe from all the yogurt causing a glitch in your system, maybe another aftershock from the suppository, but you have no will to fight it. Sticking your bottom a little higher, you push, and– Pop! The onesie’s snaps, though they fought admirably, pop open–first just one, then the rest in a rush. Too much bulk, too much straining mass and poof, your onesie just can’t contain it all, and your mushy diapers and padding all flop out between your legs. “Awwww,” Mommy coos above you, crouching slightly so your bulging bottom is right in the video’s frame. “You had to go so bad, didn’t you? Well—that’s why you wear baby diapers and Peaches gets to wear grown up clothes.” “It’s a good thing Peaches doesn’t mind the smell,” Daddy adds. “I can’t imagine a real grown up having sex like that–— so nice of her to put up with your poopy bottom.” You look down and burying your face in the fabric of your mattress, hiding your blush. “Thank her,” Daddy says, in a tone that’s not-quite warning. You look up, staring at Peaches’ smiling face, at the looming dildo strapped onto her. “Thank you for putting up with my poopy bottom, Peaches.” Mommy laughs, and your head feels so devoid of maturity that her laughter has plenty of room to echo in your thoughts. “Now show her how grateful you are.” Scooting up, obedient, your lips find the edge of the dildo. Gently at first, pulling it all into your mouth until you feel the tip at the back of your throat. You go a little faster, then, pulling your mouth back, swallowing, running your tongue along it. “It’s like the baby wants to act like a real grown up,” Daddy says. “Do you think we should let that happen?” You can tell Mommy’s shaking her head from how it sounds, but your eyes are closed, focused on the rapture of your task. “No, I think the baby prefers poopy diapers to real grown up time, can’t you hear all the moans?” And that’s true–you’re moaning into the dildo, caught up in the feel of it in your mouth, the submission, the desire to give Peaches pleasure when all you can feel is mucky diaper squelch around your baby parts. Daddy snickers. “At least the baby isn’t being shy anymore.” “I think the baby made all the snaps pop on purpose–to show off what an impressive little mess that diaper is!” Mommy agrees. You take Peaches’ cock into your mouth, again and again, feeling it thrust—or, rather, feeling your head thrust—onto it in a desperate rhythm. There’s no real indicator of when she’s done, but you know. You can tell, when you’ve done enough, when you’ve given your stuffie the ‘pleasure’ she deserves, as she rolls back onto the crib bed, flopping plushily. Exhausted, mouth a little sore, you flop back and look her in the eyes—not Mommy, or Daddy—but Peaches herself. “May I please make stickies?” “The baby is so polite like this!” Mommy says, almost shocked, moving her phone to capture your face, your ever-so-kind request. “Maybe grown-up pretend time should only happen with Peaches,” Daddy agrees. “Call it a monthly date night.” You’re vaguely aware of the threat, there—that you’ll only be allowed to make stickies once a month, and never like a grown up—but you don’t care. You just want to hear… “Well, I think I heard her say, yes,” Mommy confirms, speaking for Peaches. That’s all you need to hear–clambering up onto Peaches, so the front of your thickly layered diapers presses against her cock, you start to hump, moaning in desperate ecstasy. “So, so precious–” Mommy starts. You last all of a second. That’s all it takes—one moment of thrusting, and then bliss. A part of you is disappointed—you wanted to make this last longer. You wanted to savor it, to really enjoy your brief chance at grown up fun time. But when Mommy realizes by the sound of your gasps, she laughs and you feel so helpless that your pleasure skyrockets. Overwhelmed, exhausted, you collapse onto the crib next to Peaches, holding her in one arm. “Awwww,” Daddy says. “The baby’s all tuckered out.” “Should we let the two lovebirds rest?” Mommy asks, lowering her phone, ending the recording. Daddy thinks for a moment, then reaches down through the bars of your crib and squishes the front of your diaper. Still in the phase of post-coital sensitivity, you spasm and your leg kicks, eyes going huge. Snickering, Daddy says, “Sure. Baby, you nap with your girlfriend—we’re going to go have some adult time, some real grown up sex.” Quietly, as she shuts the side of the crib and seals you in, Mommy adds, “If Peaches says it’s okay, you can show her your pretend sex again—just don’t leave the crib.” You smile, and nod, and pull your stuffie closer. A minute later, you hear the baby monitor come to life. Mommy and Daddy’s sounds carry through, their moans and flirting—they’re having real grown up sex in the next room. The kind you’d been denied. Smiling, you roll onto all fours, getting on top of Peaches again, mimicking Mommy and Daddy’s actions with your own smelly, squelchy emulation. Maybe it wasn’t real sex, and maybe Peaches wasn’t a real girlfriend, but you didn’t care. This was just where you wanted to be. ... 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Once Upon A Time there was a Mommy, a Daddy, and a Little One. The Little One. Today The Little One had a very busy day. From the moment they awoke to the moment they were put down in their crib, it was a day full of fun with their Mommy and Daddy. Mommy and Daddy loved to dote on their Little One and today they had spent all day doing it. The Little One had a big yummy breakfast of rice cereal and formula while Mommy and Daddy had pancakes. After that, Daddy gave The Little One a bath with all their bath toys and rubber ducky friends. The Little One and Daddy would splash together and have lots of fun. Mommy and Daddy even took The Little One shopping. The poor Little One got all blushy when Mommy explained that no-one would notice their diapers hidden under their short-alls. That’s when Daddy noticed there was a special shopping cart, a “Caroline’s Cart”! It was trouble. The Little One pleaded to no avail, and found themselves buckled in place. They were so embarrassed. The Little One loved their polycule family very much, and Mommy and Daddy both loved The Little One just as much. They also loved to humiliate The Little One so they knew that even if they were the size of a “big kid”, they were just a tiny baby inside. When the whole family got to the baby aisle The Little One got really blushy and whiney. “Mommy, but what if someone …” “Shhh,” Daddy said and smiled. Mommy held up a cute little bib to The Little One’s chest, making The Little One feel even smaller inside. So small they wanted to crawl away and hide. But The Little One loved this feeling very much, and their Mommy and Daddy knew they loved it too. When they all got home with their shopping, The Little One was given a “big kid” lunch of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets as well as mac and cheese. Locked away in their highchair they still had to drink their formula from a sippy cup and wear their new bib! The day went on and the three of them had so much fun! The Little One had a tantrum for naptime and had to be spanked and put in time out. The Little One hated time out the most. But Mommy and Daddy gave out hugs and kisses and forgave The Little One. The three of them had a lovely dinner. The Little One’s belly was so full after having so many spoonfuls of pureed prunes pushed in! “That’s it, eleven jars! Good job, Sweet Pea.” Mommy was so proud, it made The Little One feel warm and soft and squishy, even if their tummy was full. The only thing as good as praise from Mommy was praise from Daddy. Sometimes, when Mommy and Daddy were extra sweet, it felt as good as the extra special times when The Little One got to “make squirties”. It was time to get ready for bed. After The Little One got changed by Mommy and Daddy and put into their favorite PJs, Mommy and Daddy told them to sit on the floor so they could take their medicine. The Little One hated medicine days. It always tasted so oily and yucky. Mommy would always put it in a medicine paci and Daddy would ensure they had sucked down every drop. Finally it was crib time. The Little One whined, “But Mommy, Daddy, I want to sleep with you!” “Hush now,” Daddy whispered, softly stroking The Little One’s hair. Daddy popped a pacifier back in The Little Ones mouth, and snuggled Their Big Stuffy into their arms. Mommy and Daddy both gave sloppy kisses to The Little One on their lips. They raised the crib bars, closed the top, and turned out the light. The Little One sighed and tried to fall asleep. * * * The Little One awoke. They could smell their disgusting dirty diaper. The prunes and castor oil had definitely done their duty. The cloying, earthy muck mixed with the clean smell of the plastic sheet only inches from their nose. The ever present scent of baby powder hung in the air. Mommy made sure of that. She purchased a nursery scented air freshener. “To remind you that you’re still a baby!” Mommy had exclaimed cheerfully while installing it above the change table. Little snatches and sniffs of rubber and leather were constant from the various toys and restraints that were a permanent part of The Little One’s life. All this hanging on the olfactory backbeat of the ever present rhythm of the smell of the diaper pail. Sometimes it was full to bursting, the pungent scent filling the room, and the Little One was destined for a night of spanking and line writing for being so lax in their cleaning duties. This time only a few sodden reminders of their babyhood were sealed away in that powder scented plastic. The light of the nightlight shone gently across the room. It was an old Piglet one—in his red shirt with a look of trepidation on his face. This was the very first nightlight Mommy and Daddy had when The Little One spent the night at their house the first time. The Little One remembered how they felt like Piglet too. The Little One’s eyes glanced over to Their Big Stuffy. It was a big fox that was just like a large pillow, with a huge smile printed on her fabric face. Mommy and Daddy had gotten Their Big Stuffy for them as a special treat the day their weekend arrangement was agreed upon. They all agreed Their Big Stuffy was the second cutest addition to the family. The Little One had named her Peaches. The Little One’s eyes wandered over to the new addition, the toy shelf. Mommy and Daddy had purchased that at Ikea and practically dropped it at The Little One’s feet. Daddy’s words echoing through their ears. “It’s just like a puzzle baby! Now be good and set it up for Mommy and Daddy.” It had taken most of the day, and their diaper was a mess by the end of it. That night Mommy and Daddy took turns stocking the toy shelf with toddler classics like stacking rings and busy boards, and toys for dirty naughty ABDLs like tunnel plugs, pacifier gags and spankers. The Little One was kept safely locked in their crib while this happened, whining and excited to see their new toys, but tightly restrained only able to watch through the crib bars while Mommy and Daddy teased them. The crib bars. They weren’t locked and could be lowered! For the first time in a long time if The Little One wanted to leave their crib, they could. “Sssshhh! You’ll wake them!” It was Mommy’s voice through the baby monitor. This was a new thing they added. Normally Mommy set it up during “naptime” to make sure The Little One wasn’t getting into trouble. This time Mommy and Daddy must have set it up wrong, the transmitter was in their room and the receiver was here! “Even if we did wake them, what are they going to do?” It was Daddy’s voice, and it sounded like a dare! Mommy giggled a little at that, and before long let out a short moan. Lying there, The Little One tasted the drool from their pacifier, and the bitter remnants of the castor oil. But… best of all, was the warm and mushy feeling of the wet and messy diaper. Mommy’s voice rang out through the baby monitor, “Oh yeah, just like that.” The Little One was really turned on right now, hearing their Mommy and Daddy do nasty things to each other while The LIttle One was trapped in the crib. They brought their hands down to their mushy diaper and started to rub a little. “That’s it,” Mommy’s loud sigh sounded like a waterfall through the little speaker of the baby monitor. “Just like that.” Shocked, The Little One stopped rubbing. It was like Mommy was talking to them! But no, the moans coming through the monitor made it clear that Mommy was talking to Daddy. They looked at the top of the crib. The unlocked Crib. Did they dare? They could! Another moan escaped Mommy's lips, this time The Little One could hear it from the other room and the baby monitor. The Little One looked back fondly at the days they were allowed to spend time in Mommy’s and Daddy’s bed. How much they missed that. The baby monitor continued to broadcast sounds of adult fun. Its source was a mere 30 feet away, in the next room. The Little One remembered their Daddy saying how they should only leave the crib during emergencies, how it was important that they should stay in their crib, and how much they would be punished if they broke the rule. “—ttle One…” wait did Mommy say their name? That settled it. It was time for adventure. They sat up. The diaper went squish and the Little One felt mush spread everywhere. They waited until Mommy and Daddy were making a lot of noise, and slid the bars of their crib down with a gentle ‘whish’ and a ‘click’. Slowly they crept out of their crib, grabbed Peaches, and crawled out the door. Through the hallway they crawled. The crinkle of their diaper was loud even through their soft PJs in the hushed hallway. Finally they got to the master bedroom. They crept through the open door. Elegant scented candles, bottles of lube, restraints, spankers and toys were everywhere. Mommy and Daddy were both on the bed. Daddy was tightly bound, oh his knees, face down and ass up. Mommy was kneeling between his legs and had her hands on Daddys hips. Was Mommy…? “Yes, just like that,” she purred. She thrusted her hips and Daddy squealed a little. The Little One crept to their special chair in Mommy’s and Daddy’s room. This was the ‘watching chair’ that Daddy had set up for them. It was a small chair painted pink and blue, and sometimes Mommy and Daddy would restrain them to it. That way The Little One could watch Mommy and Daddy play but not be able to touch themselves, just like they were tonight. Not just like tonight. Tonight was new. The Little One silently sat down in their special chair, their mucky diaper making the slightest of squelches as they settled into place. They nestled Peaches between their legs. The Little One watched. They couldn’t help but rub their mucky diaper in time with Mommy’s thrusting and Daddy’s grunting. The little one had never seen anything like this before, and was extremely turned on by it. They wanted Mommy to do the same thing to them! Their tummy made a few more gurgles and rumbles. They watched as Mommy kept thrusting harder and harder. The Little One kept rubbing in time with Mommy and Daddy, squishing their ruined diaper and feeling the mess squirt around as they continued to grind against Peaches. The Little One felt the cramps well up, from the bottom of their spine and snaking all the way through to the tippy top of their tummy. They closed their eyes and imagined Mommy doing that to them. Their other hand almost unconsciously moved to their mouth, and The Little One started sucking hard on their thumb. They rubbed their diaper harder and started grinding into it, the soppy mess spreading out, just barely contained by a protective layer of plastic pants. The LIttle One felt a little squirt come out. Out of the backside of their diaper that is! The commotion in the room got louder and louder. Mommy and Daddy lost in their moment and The Little One lost in their imagination. There was a big squelch as The Little One lost control, and a blowout came pouring through the top of their diaper and plastic pants at the back. This only encouraged The Little One to keep going. They couldn't help it, they kept thinking about how they filled their diaper helplessly, they kept imagining between Mommy and Daddy. They were so close… So close… So close! And that’s when The Little One felt Mommy’s tender hand against their cheek. The Little One threw open their eyes and there was Mommy and Daddy. The Little One stared up at their ‘Parents’. The Little One self consciously sitting in this childish chair with their knees up to their chest, their stuffy between their spread legs, and the scent of fresh squirty messies carried up. “What are you doing out of bed?” Mommy Said “Any more and Your Big Stuffy would have helped you make number three.” Daddy added. The Little One sniffled, “I’m sowwy.” Their ‘Parents’ both replied, “You will be!’ The End * * * Mommy finishes reading the book, “And that’s how we found you! You were a stinky little mess sitting in your chair.” “And you were really close to making another one too!” Daddy replies. You’re sitting between Mommy and Daddy on the couch before bedtime. This is part of the punishment for sneaking out of the crib to watch Mommy and Daddy. The new nighttime routine was a long spanking and corner time, followed up by storytime, where you’re made to sit through this childish retelling of how you got caught. Mommy kisses you on the forehead, “Sweetie, what if we commissioned some of your favorite artists, and turned it into a picture book, would you like that?” “I think that’s a wonderful idea!” Daddy replies. “Then all your baby friends can see just how naughty a baby you are!” “But, I just want some Adult time like you and Mommy!” you plead. It’s been so long. The last month has been hard, Mommy and Daddy don’t even let you make stickies in your diaper any more, keeping you tightly restrained in your crib during sleep time, just in case you get up to naughty business. “I just want to have a special date. Just like you guys did.” “Well, Daddy and I talked it over. Tomorrow will be the one month anniversary of your misbehavior. We agreed that since you’ve done very well with your punishment, you can have a date just like Mommy and Daddy.” “Really?!?” Your eyes are as wide as pie plates. “Yes. Mommy and I have found someone special for you, and have planned the perfect date.” Daddy’s smile is genuine. Who could they have found? “But for now, it’s time for bed!” “But Mommy!” You whine. “Please tell me more!” “Ah, ah, ah!” She chides back. “Remember what happened last time you whined before bed?” “Yes Mommy.” “What happened?” “I had to have my mouth washed out with soap Mommy.” Daddy joins in, “And what else?” “I spent the whole night with a soapy pacifier in my mouth,” you say dejectedly, remembering the long night. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except right before Daddy went to bed, he came in and gave the pacifier, and your mouth, a fresh coat of soap. That was a long night. You learned your lesson. “Do you want a repeat?” Daddy says, his voice a little more stern. “No sir.” “Good.” he says, ruffling your hair. Mommy finishes pouring a strong dose of castor oil into your medicine pacifier. It looks like you’re in for another messy night. Daddy lifts up your chin and Mommy holds the medicine pacifier in place. You grimace as you suck down the bitter oil as fast as you can, gentle words of encouragement tumbling out of Mommy and Daddy mouths, while Mommy strokes your throat softly. Just like every night for the past month, you’re restrained to your crib, and your stuffy Peaches the Fox is nestled next to you. Daddy pops a pacifier in your mouth, slides up the crib bars and closes the top, locking everything in place and giving you a wink. Getting through tonight will feel like forever, it may be even worse than the night with the soapy pacifier. This is part one of a collaboration with Peculiar Changeling. It's been a lot of fun, and it is so awesome to work with him. Keep an eye out for part 2 from him! Special thanks to our editor Ellie, who is awesome **Sissy Becky** used to run an ABDL website way back on the day. Now they write "Adult Baby Research Institute" a long form serial about a ABDL BSDM sex asylum where everything is turned up to 11. Catch their work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sissybecky. (Or here) **Peculiar Changeling** is an author of AB/DL fiction, commonly cutesy, often smutty, sometimes stinky, and always crinkly. On Patreon, you can find all of his writing - over 10,000 words of fiction every month - Including exclusive content not found anywhere else on the internet, as well as early access to everything, discounts on commissions, and other cool perks. Plus, you'll help support his ability to keep creating stories like this one! http://patreon.com/peculiarchangeling http://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Daniel Lewis was an average 17 year old boy. It was just him, his mom and his new step dad. They moved to his step dad's house after his mother got married to him. Lucky for Daniel, his new house was still close to his school so he didn't have to move schools. Daniel's step dad, Jim was a very nice man. Always asked if he needed help with anything, gave him rides to school, and watched TV with him now and then. But after a month of living with the man, Jim seemed to baby him more after his mom got a job in the evenings. She worked from 4:30-11:30 pm at a store that was downtown.